


Bewitched

by zanni



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 08:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11123565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanni/pseuds/zanni
Summary: Jehan would call it being in love, Grantaire being in lust; Courfeyrac is not sure which one it is, he knows only those pretty eyes and pretty lips taunt him whenever their paths cross and he’s never been good at resisting temptation.





	Bewitched

He takes a long drag from his pipe, enjoying the cool breeze by the window. There is nothing of particular interest in the night sky today, only a few stars not covered by clouds, but at least it is not raining anymore. The sky always looks better in the South, he thinks, more stars, more beautiful sunsets and sunrises, not hidden by Parisian roofs and mismatched chimneys.

“Courfeyrac, are you in for the next round?”

He’s about to return to the table, tapping his pipe on the window ledge, when he notices someone outside, leaning against the wall. The figure seems very familiar, even if the street is not well lit, and he wonders... Well, Luck has been on his side today, so why not. Besides, he’s won at cards all evening and is starting to feel sorry for his friends. Perhaps it is for the best that he leaves. Unless he’s mistaken, a better game awaits him.

So he bids goodbye to Joly and Bossuet, grabs his coat, his hat and his cane, and down the stairs he goes. Just as he thought, it is Montparnasse. Courfeyrac takes him by the arm and they walk together some distance before speaking:

“I see, this all it takes: you lurk at a tavern’s door and go with the first to grab your arm.”

“Not any first. I saw you before, so I was hoping it would be you.”

“And if it was not?”

“It depends.”

“You are terrible!”

But he laughs all the same and Montparnasse smiles like a fox. Leaning against him, he feels the scent of musk and roses.

  

 

They go to Courfeyrac’s quarters, never to Montparnasse's. He would prefer to be the one visiting for a change, but the young dandy refuses to share even the area he lives in. _“Did you not say I was like a stray cat?”_ he had started once, _“stray cats have no home, they belong to the streets.”_

As the portress gets up to greet _Monsieur de Courfeyrac,_ Montparnasse adjusts himself on his arm, grabbing him more tightly and more suggestively. Courfeyrac throws an amused “good evening” in the old woman’s direction and laughs up the stairs, her disapproving eyes following them. He knocks on his own door and Montparnasse raises an eyebrow.

"Are we to join one of your friends?"

“No. Or at least I hope not! You see, I have recently acquired a roommate and he is not quite educated in the ways and liberties of living on your own yet. It becomes very hard to bring someone over.”

“Someone? And here I thought you were saving yourself for me.”

Courfeyrac fumbles with his keys. Montparnasse’s mocking is not very far from the truth – not due to any one-sided vow of fidelity, but more to the fact no one seems as charming lately, lovely ladies not so lovely to him anymore. The boy has him bewitched.

He knows his wallet went missing the night he met Montparnasse, notices his hands in his pockets every so often. He is not stupid and yet keeps coming back for more. (He has also heard rumors of other things, far more disturbing, but as long as they remain rumors, he does not have to take them seriously.) Jehan would call it being in love, Grantaire being in lust; Courfeyrac is not sure which one it is, he knows only those pretty eyes and pretty lips taunt him whenever their paths cross and he’s never been good at resisting temptation (and why should he? why resist it if he can afford it?).

 

 

The room is empty and Courfeyrac wastes no time with formalities. “Come” he says, bringing him by the hand, and Montparnasse nearly trips on Marius’s mattress on the floor, before Courfeyrac uncerimoniously throws him onto the bed. He climbs on top of him and tastes those plump cherry lips for the first time tonight. He hopes Marius takes his time returning. If he gets back while they’re... busy... well, he can watch them if he likes; maybe he’ll learn a thing or two about life.

Montparnasse’s cravat is the first thing to go, to better access his elegant neck. There’s a bruise there he does not remember making, and so he bites it hard, harder than he needs to, and Montparnasse whimpers. Now the mark will be his.

“Courfeyrac, you are a beast... Were you not raised to be a gentleman?”

“Would you wish me to be one?”

Montparnasse bats his long eyelashes slowly, faking coyness where there is none, and even that is charming in its artificiality. He then grabs a lock of Courfeyrac’s hair and pulls him in for another kiss, inviting him into his mouth, “No monsieur, I don’t want your gentleness...”

He’s never fucked anyone, man or woman, the way he fucks Montparnasse. ( Not that he’s had many men – his only experience, prior to present company, had been a stable boy back in his parents’ country house, but those encounters had been innocent and sweet, like a breeze in a summer afternoon. Montparnasse is everything but a summer breeze. ) In an alleyway or in a bed, against the wall or on his knees, he will do everything Courfeyrac can think of and even what he cannot. With anyone else, he would be more careful, more polite, but Montparnasse, for someone who is so drawn to all that is fine and beautiful and delicate, surprisingly seems to like him better the more vulgar he is; and Courfeyrac is happy to please.

Between kisses and bites, he whispers obscenities mixed with pretty flatteries in his ear, and Montparnasse makes such delighted sounds in return, pulling at his waistcoat and wrapping his legs around him. Courfeyrac gets rid of the waistcoat and the rest of their clothes follow suit.

Montparnasse is as hard as he is, and Courfeyrac is careful to touch everywhere except where he most needs. Montparnasse watches him, eyes half lidded and dark with lust, rosy cheeks and parted lips, redder than before, making little noises when Courfeyrac sucks and pinches his pink nipples. Hands in his narrow waist, narrow even without the corset, he moves lower and kisses the inside of his thighs, pale and smooth, sinking his teeth in there as well.

“Stop teasing.”

“In due time,” Courfeyrac replies, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. They have a bed today, and he wants to make it last. “Turn around.”

Montparnasse promptly does so, his back beautifully arched, and Courfeyrac lets his fingertips make a trail up his thigh. Montparnasse looks over his shoulder, impatient, spreading his legs wider apart.

But Courfeyrac is not quite done yet. He holds him in place, and he licks his entrance, making Montparnasse gasp, deliciously surprised. He could make him come like this, tongue inside him, stroking him from behind, slowly, Montparnasse’s soft moans like some heavenly sound in his ears. But Montparnasse said he did not want his gentleness, so he shall not get it. Courfeyrac positions himself better, hands firm on Montparnasse’s hips, and when he enters him, hard and heavy, it is not with his tongue anymore.

“You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Give me your best.”

He means to sound confident, but his voice breaking in the middle, and Courfeyrac becomes even more aroused. They move their hips together, Montparnasse telling him to go faster, his knuckles white as he clings to the sheets, and he _sounds_ so good, _feels_ so good, Courfeyrac wants him all to himself. He gets him to come first, in his hand, and Courfeyrac spends inside him.

 

 

He lays down, Montparnasse joining him for once. So breathless and so spent that he allows himself to be held by Courfeyrac, to rest in his arms, to slowly close his eyelids. How different he is now. Black hair, red lips and skin white as snow. It reminds him of fairy tales, although no princess would do what they’ve done, at least in any version of the stories he knows. He wonders if Montparnasse ever looked innocent outside his sleep. Wonders what took that innocence away.

 

 

There’s a loud noise from the front door, followed by terrible singing, and Montparnasse is alert again, quickly moving away. For the first time Courfeyrac damns the lively neighborhood and its drunken lively students. As he watches him gathering his clothes from the floor, Courfeyrac gets an idea:

“Meet me tomorrow at noon!”

“Why?”

“ _Why_ you ask? Do you not wish to enjoy my company? Or is it that you are unable to go outside in the daylight? I only ever see you after the sun has set... My dear Montparnasse, are you a vampire?” 

“Idiot.” He says, trying not to laugh. “Noon is unusually early. If this is a scheme to take me to one of your ABC meetings...”

“No, no, of course not! Those are for whoever wants to be there, far from us to force anyone to attend. Although, if this was the plot you imagine, I can assure you it would be in your best interests. But alas, I digress. What I wish for tomorrow is to take you to a tailor: will you let me?” He looks at Montparnasse expectantly. Surely he would not be offended? He’s never quite sure how far he is allowed to go in anything that does not involve physical pleasures; sharing nights is one thing, sharing days is quite another.

“Am I to be your mistress now?” he asks with an amused smile, suspicion not quite gone yet.

“As if. I am merely offering you a gift, if you would take it.” You cannot force a stray cat to stay after all, only hope that he will return to your open door.

“Alright then.” His expression softens and for a moment he looks almost sweet. “You truly are my favorite, Courfeyrac.”

And with a swift gesture, he pulls Montparnasse back to the bed, and kisses him hard. “I know.”

Montparnasse laughs and there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. He tries to hide it, but Courfeyrac grabs his wrists, so he sighs and looks away. The smile lingers and the blush does too. “I was attempting to get dressed, monsieur.”

“Were you? You did not get very far.” Pinned under him and wearing only a half buttoned blouse, the sight is even more erotic than when he was fully nude. Courfeyrac kisses his neck, biting down softly when Montparnasse tries to move. He could get ready for a second round right now. “Stay the night.”

“I have plans.”

“At this hour? Better than me?” He moves his hand to go beneath Montparnasse’s blouse, but the thief takes this opportunity to slip from under him.

“Of a different kind.” Montparnasse gives him a lasting glance and bites his lip, as if considering the offer. Courfeyrac thinks he has him, but when he lifts his hand to bring him close, Montparnasse gets back on his feet to finish getting dressed. “I will find you tomorrow.”

It’s a refusal, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes as he says it, and Courfeyrac thinks he can see some genuine affection there. He could also be wrong; perhaps Montparnasse’s eyes are only a reflection of his own, showing him what he wishes to see. But he doesn’t mind. His door will stay open, as long as the stray cat keeps coming back. Maybe one day he’ll stay.


End file.
